


The Storm's Eye

by Princess_Claire_Fey



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Blood, Coercion, Established Relationship, Geographical Isolation, Isolation, Multi, Mystery, On hiatus - check back in a few months, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Sexual Coercion, Technically Comic Compliant, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Claire_Fey/pseuds/Princess_Claire_Fey
Summary: The great warrior Sokka, made a legend by the 100 year's war ventures deep into the Earth Kingdom to track down an anti-restoration terrorist. Instead, he finds himself embattled in a fight for his life against enemies after his very own lifeblood. Only high on a mountain, in the center of the Gaoling jungles does he find respite from his foes. But what he finds there in the center of chaos leaves Sokka more unsettled than he was to start with.





	The Storm's Eye

By the time he reached the foot of the next hill and saw the source of the faint light on its crest, Sokka was bloodied and covered in mud. The man was tired. The meteor _jian_ strapped to his belt and the meager supplies on his back were hardly weighing him down - no, it was the fact the swordsman had been running and fighting for thirty-six hours with no sleep to speak of. The gash on his neck where life had been drained out of him still tore open sometimes, leaking fresh crimson onto his already hardly-recognizable clothes and sapping more alertness from the water tribe man.   
  
His attackers were relentless. Beyond relentless. He had slain four of them, left behind everything he had of value (that wasn't immediately useful, anyway), but yet still they pursued him. It reminded Sokka of the Yu-Yan archers. They came out of the shadows, Tui, they _looked_ like shadows. However these did not arm themselves with bows. They fought with flame and blade. Their skill wasn't out of the ordinary but their sheer brutality was otherworldly. They fought like nothing the man had ever encountered, their movements alien and foreign. Disregard of their own life uncharacteristic of bandits, no uniforms uncharacteristic of military or militia, and coordination unlike any brigands or petty criminals.  
  
They were _ghosts_. Like that of Gran-Gran's old tales.  
  
But did these particular 'ghosts' live in the brightly-lit home he was now looking upon? That was the question Sokka now pondered. Exhaustion didn't even come close to describing what the swordsman felt. He was on his last legs' last legs and he knew it. A bed to sleep on and a meal of any kind would be a gift from the spirits, truly. A chance to rejuvenate after what felt like weeks in Koh's Lair, at least a night before he had to face his enemies again. Was that too much to ask?  
  
But it was also quite possible that the distant manor he was facing was under the control of the shadows. Or _worse_ , the very lair from whence they came. To say it was a gamble to head there was an understatement at best. He could be walking right into a quicksand pit hoping for an oasis. But for once the voices in Sokka's mind, the voices borne of combat and sleep deprivation were in agreement. _If that really is their base, that means I've been heading the wrong way this whole time_ , said the pessimist. _Why would a bunch of shadow-people live somewhere so visible?_ , said the optimist. No matter how he analyzed the situation, the best way out of this nightmare was to keep moving forward. The structure in front of him drew him to do so, the crimson firelight contrasting sharply against the dead of night.  
  
It didn't take that long for the swordsman to stumble across a trail. An honest-to-Tui honest-to-La trail! Another sign that some kind of civilization resided nearby. It wasn't particularly well trodden, but Sokka could tell it was there even in the darkness that only a waning moon could provide.   
  
_Get Down? Get Down!_  
  
The warrior dropped into a fighting stance, drawing his meteorite *jian* even though it pained his drained arms to do so. A rustle. He had heard a rustle! Sokka was not crazy, and he trusted his instincts like an earthbender would trust the rock below their feet. He never saw the shadows coming, but sometimes he could hear them hiding, waiting in the darkness to take more of his lifeblood. Blue eyes well adjusted to the night and a warrior's ears scanned the surroundings to the best of their ability but... nothing. This particular rustle in the bushes had been just that? Sokka was getting high up, he supposed. And with altitude came wind.   
  
He kept the black blade in his hands, fingers wrapped tightly around the grip. He started to move, slowly, his senses working overtime but his mind still thinking about the respite shelter could bring.   
  
_**Crack**_  
  
The swordsman's head turned on a swivel. Nothing. He began moving faster.   
  
**_Crack._**  
  
_Rustle_  
  
**_Snap_**  
  
So many noises now. Sokka could pick out 4, 5.. maybe six distinct sources. Far too many. Why weren't they were attacking? Was this really their lair, and the blood-thieves were just playing with their food before finally striking? Or was his mind at last succumbing to insanity?  
  
He turned his head once more, this time to a light _behind him_. Small. Flickering. _Fire_. The man took a moment to take in the details, the diffuse reflection of the firelight of that shadowy _thing_. Man, woman, beast, he did not know. Only that they bled and wanted others to bleed. _It_ was wearing a mask, brighter than the rest of its shadowy robe. He couldn't see it's face, what it was thinking as it stood there staring him down.  
  
And then the flame went out.   
  
Something broke inside of Sokka. No threatening raising of his weapon, no sarcastic remark, no tactics or strategy, nothing. He just _ran_. Ran towards his only hope of safety, practically dragging his dark blade behind him. His mind was locked inside of the dichotomy that it had created. Perhaps if he had been of sound mind he may have turned and fought, choosing to fight and die with honor as opposed to getting caught running towards a fleeting hope of safety. However Sokka had been fighting for too long against his nightmarish enemies without respite to make such judgment. All that he could focus on was the light in front of him.  
  
The home could be seen in greater detail now, as he got closer. Smaller than the manor Sokka had been expecting from all that light, but frankly all the details blurred in his mind as he ran for his very life. His focus was on finding a _door_ , not analyzing the exterior design.   
  
Sokka's breaths only became quicker and heavier as he got closer to his destination, the man's entire body aching from summiting this last hill, his 'run' now barely faster than a brisk walk. He felt like a small child having been so utterly exhausted by such a small distance. Every stride came a blunt pain in his abdomen, a very real reminder of the energy that had been stolen from him - the very life force that had made him a legend in the 100 year's war now barely managing to getting him from A to B without crying in pain.   
  
He slowed. If the shadows were still perusing him, they would have caught him by now. Sokka very much doubted he could outrun _Bosco_ at this point, let alone the shadows that had tracked him through miles upon miles of deep forest. And yet, that didn't provide him with much respite, somehow. The pain remained as he took the last few steps toward the door at a snails pace.  
  
He could see it all much more clearly now, even though the exhaustion-induced delirium prevented him from really thinking too hard about the details. The unusual braziers and large windows that seemed to line the exterior (likely the source of all that light) didn't concern Sokka, only getting inside did. As long as the inhabitants weren't more shadows, frankly it didn't matter.  
  
The water tribe man breathed a sigh of relief as the handle turned. No lock. He couldn't help look behind him as he stood there holding the door closed. No signs of his enemy, this wasn't some kind of trick or game, at least not yet.  
  
The door opened with a _Creeeeeaaak!_ and Sokka got his first look at the interior. But while his eyes were busy darting around analyzing their new surroundings the first thing he noticed was the _warmth_. The winter nights had been freezing and the blood that had been stolen from him only exacerbated the cold. But in here it might as well have been a summer day. Almost _too_ warm for his liking, after all he was used to sleeping in the firelit igloos of his home, with the flames staving off the frigid southern winters but not eliminating their bite entirely. Though it was certainly an improvement and it wasn't like he was in a position to complain anyway, since he didn't exactly book a reservation before barging through the door.  
  
"Well, this certainly is a surprise."  
  
His ears still working overtime, Sokka wasted no time spinning around towards the source of the feminine, smooth and seemingly amused voice emanating through the doorway. Black hair. Golden eyes. Painted lips. Fire Nation attire. Sokka's imagination quickly realized it had been wrong when it figured there couldn't be anything worse than shadows. _Azula_. Last he heard of her, she had escaped the madhouse she'd been put in to contain her delusional ramblings and crazy plots for the throne. He wondered if she'd organized this whole thing from the start.  
  
"Have you come here to kill me?" her pupils centered upon the similarly black sword, though her face told a different story. She looked more amused than afraid, which certainly made sense seeing as Sokka had doubts he could kill anything at all, let alone the woman that had shot and killed the avatar. He needed food, drink, and sleep - not another fight, and both of them knew it.  
  
"No" he answered finally, even though there was really no need since his appearance spoke volumes more than his voice could. "I... I need-" a pause. "I _could use_ your help."  
  
Not that Sokka actually believed that the madwoman in front of him would actually offer an ounce of help. She was more likely to kill him as revenge for what his sister did to her on the day of the comet, which would be the day she lost everything, he supposed. Even so, it wasn't as if he had a choice. Fighting or running would buy him minutes at best, asking for sanctuary and playing along could yield him a lot longer, possibly even his life in perpetuity depending on how much the rumors of her insanity were true.   
  
The swordsman slowly raised up his weapon, and promptly sheathed it, doing his best to hide the pain in his arm. Then, as she watched with her arms crossed, Sokka unclipped the sword from his belt and placed it on the table in front of him. All the while thinking about how he would end up paying for her 'help' should she actually offer it.  
  
No laughter, no smirk. Just a stare as the blue fireplace flicked. Like she was looking him over, sizing him up, unsure of what exactly to do (not that the woman in front of him would ever show confusion to her past enemy).   
  
A smile. "Acceptable" she agreed, finally. "Leave your filthy shoes at the door."  
  
_Acceptable?_ the man thought, raising an eyebrow - all the while trying to look into those golden eyes and decipher the machinations behind them. A moment later and he relented, breaking a stare of his own and doing as she had instructed, though never truly looking away from the deposed Princess.  
  
"I suppose you'll be wanting a meal?" she interrupted Sokka's thoughts, causing him to look up from the strange assortment of shoes already at the door. He nodded. "There's a pump around back." she gestured to the open door from which he had just come. "Fetch us some water" she asked, or rather, commanded of him simply.  
  
He didn't move.  
  
"The keepers that attacked you won't harm you as long as you stay close by" she sighed, as if she were explaining the obvious. "Now go" the firebender insisted, before turning back into the way from where she had come, deeper within the home. Sokka was about to anger at the fact that he had been told to remove his shoes only to put them back again, before realizing that the ground immediately around the house was paved. Instead of dirt lay smooth stone with faint creases. The work of an earthbender, most likely, the work was too precise to be done by hand.   
  
Sokka's mind spun with Azula's words as he tentatively stepped on the lukewarm stone with his bare feet. _Keepers_. That's what she had called them. Were they her allies, or enemies? Evidently, they did not come around her home. But that could easily be out of respect just as it could be out of fear. Then again, if they were allies, why have them attack only to offer him sanctuary? Also, who is _us?_ The swordsman initially thought that she was referring to herself and Sokka, but the footwear by the door gave him pause. They seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place it. Either way, those cutesy pink sandals certainly weren't _hers_.   
  
How many others were here? And were they here willingly? Sokka wondered.  
  
The hand-pump Azula had spoken of was easy enough to find, as was a bucket to fill. Even though he was exhausted, he found the strength in himself to force the water to the surface using the lever. Though instead of in any bucket, the first gushes of cool, and at least decently clean water went straight onto Sokka's face. With each flex of his muscles more and more sprung from the ground, washing away more and more of the dirt and blood that had caked on his face. He couldn't wait for it to be properly boiled - the tired, drained warrior downed several mouthfuls of the chilly liquid, something he had been practically dreaming about only minutes before.  
  
And finally, for the first time in a while, Sokka felt he had caught his breath. His wounds still stung - now more than ever since the adrenalin had since left his body. But for now, his survival no longer depended on constant alertness and physical exertion. Dealing with _her_ may have been the last thing Sokka would have wanted to do a week before, but now it was an _improvement_. His mind, previously focused on persistent surveillance of his surroundings and his own survival could now be given a rest, repurposed to less onerous things.   
  
Like, for example, noticing just how disheveled he was. There was scarcely a part of his body that _wasn't_ covered in some kind of blood or grime. He probably smelled rotten too, though his mind had long since blocked out the sensation in favor of more relevant information.   
  
_You think Azula could spare some clothes?,_ Sokka mused, before removing his sorry excuse for a shirt to repeat the process on his body in the vain hope that he'd at least look presentable in front of the woman now offering him food, warmth, and shelter from the shadows that stopped just short of ending his life. On one hand, there was certainly a weird feeling to fixing himself up for her. On the other, it felt good not to look like some kind of ghoul or monster anymore. In the faint reflection provided by the water and moonlight, Sokka looked almost _human_ again.  
  
And...  
  
**_Splash._**  
  
He turned around in a flash to what he had seen in the reflection. A silhouette of a woman outlined by firelight, clearly not Azula, but nevertheless looking straight at him. The swordsman's cheeks flushed red, but before he could take action to cover himself the figure was gone, leaving him again alone on the damp ground - the bucket he had been using to wash himself on its side.   
  
Even again fully clothed, Sokka still felt bare with his sword left inside. Azula had assured him that the ' _Keepers_ ' would not attack, and so far his senses confirmed so. And yet, he still couldn't help quick glances behind him, slow scans of the treeline. It wasn't that the meteorite blade would actually do him much good if they or his new host were to strike, but the lack of such certainly drove home what had been true since he arrived: Sokka was powerless. A hard thing for the mind to accept, when it's accustomed to always fighting, always moving forward. And yet, as if to spite his expectations, that was the situation he was now in. Life, death, comfort... all in the hands of others.


End file.
